


Curiouser and Curiouser

by AndyArchives



Category: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Ideation, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyArchives/pseuds/AndyArchives
Summary: Spock is at his very lowest when a vision of his future T’hy’la puts a halt in his plans (aka the one where disco Spock meets tos Jim...in a way).
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, Spirk - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	Curiouser and Curiouser

**Author's Note:**

> The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline’s number is 800-273-8255. Their website is https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
> 
> Remember that, just like Spock, you too are loved, and you too deserve to live long enough to meet all the amazing people who will adore you 💜
> 
> Link to related art I’ve commissioned based off of this: https://shyravenns.tumblr.com/post/639609707869470720/waist-up-commission-for-spocksmokesweed-they

Spock came back from mealtime to his solitary room. He glanced at the scribblings on the wall and wondered if he should continue carving out the words that had been so steadying to him lately: the principles of logic as well as, for some reason, Alice in Wonderland

The question was, what was he trying to get to? His shoulder ached at the memory of writing upright all day. The more he wrote the more his mind wandered off. The more his mind wandered off the more likely he was to trail from the path and start thinking about...that.

His stomach twisted as he crawled under the covers and buried his face inside the soft fabric of his blanket. He was surprised at the fine quality of the objects in his room, despite the fact he had nearly nothing to occupy himself with. At least he had an even tally of the amount of solar days he’d spent committed. He stared at the aforementioned tally marks he had made sure to keep careful track of, in the tiny corner of the wall. 

Day number sixty-three. Tomorrow it would be sixty-four. He counted those tally marks daily, relying on his sense of time, which had become less than accurate lately. At least he knew the days were correct. He remembered the time he entered sixty-three days ago: 10 am. 

It was difficult to admit it out loud, but he had been having trouble making sense of things. His emotional barriers were perched like a stack of cards. One poke and he knew he would lose control again. 

His emotional control was what he prided himself the most on. His ability to set boundaries and compartmentalize has always been, in his opinion, his most admirable quality. Day by day, however, that quality eroded just enough for some room to move.

The key to it came in the form of a handful of tranquilizing medication he’d hidden away in his pocket. The psychiatric hospital had been tough to trick at first, but he managed to make it so he could let the tranquilizer slip innocently into his sleeves when he was facing a nurse, and feign taking a pill quite easily.

The last he’d checked he had a healthy handful of pills he could pile up high on his hand - at least two dozen.

Perhaps tonight was the night to give it all up. His Vulcan philosophy—that of preserving all life when possible—couldn’t possibly be applied to someone like him. Someone who wasn’t contributing any good or bad into the world. Someone who had worn through his own patience piece by piece only to crash nightly, devoid of energy in the morning to do more than scribble on his walls.

His energy and will to live had diluted like someone trying to preserve a rare perfume by watering it down day by day until the nozzle couldn’t cough up another drop. He couldn’t squeeze one more drop of will out of himself. 

He reached out and grabbed the bottle of water they’d allotted him and put his hand inside his pocket, where his tranquilizer stash was. His hand closed over a small, manageable handful of pills.

He took a deep breath and carefully pulled the medicine out of his pocket, being careful not to spill the extra pills. He would do this one small handful at a time.

“Spock!”

He looked up and gave a start so violent his mouth dropped open. The rest of him remained frozen. He stared at a man in front of him. He looked around his own age. He was a human, with dirty blonde hair and kind brown eyes and a soft waist. The edges of his body were blurred. He held his hand out as if trying to stop him, and Spock noticed his body was vaguely translucent, and the lines of his body exerted mist. 

When he looked away from his face, the details of it got lost in his memory. When he looked straight at him, he could try with all his might to memorize his long lashes, the hint of gold within his light brown eyes, and the way they fixated so completely on him. 

Even so, when he looked away from this man’s face the details slipped away from his memory. He couldn’t even recall more than the letter J when he tried to think of his name with his eyes closed. There was no way he’d be able to pick this man out a second time in a line of sandy-haired people of similar height, weight, and haircut, even if he got to hear his voice.

He feared to speak to this man—there was a high possibility he was an illusion.

“Spock,” said the man, again. “I know what you’re trying to do.” 

Spock scrutinized him, impressed with how vivid this hallucination was. Finally he closed his eyes and shook his head, softly whispering “ridiculous” to himself.

“Who are you calling ridiculous?”

A cold fist closed around Spock’s chest. He looked up, noticed again how he could see the colors of the walls ever so slightly through this man’s body. He rubbed his beard—a sensory comfort he’d found when he learned the ward wasn’t keen on giving him razors.

“I am not calling you ridiculous,” said Spock. “I am calling myself ridiculous. For seeing hallucinations.” 

“You’re not going crazy, Spock...” The man approached him closer and asked, “Do you remember your research you’ve done on t’hy’la bonds? Do you remember how when the bond is formed it transcends time and space? All through telepathy? I’ve been hopping around your memories but this one is...I think you need me for this one the most.”

“I do not understand,” Spock said after a steadying blink.

The man’s face slumped in a way that seemed so genuine it made Spock scrutinize him even closer. He was aware of human beings’ ability to lie, but he could not tell if this man was acting. If so, he was quite convincing.

“Like I said...right now, in another timeline, we’re forming a t’hy’la bond. I think the older version of yourself sent me here during our bond to uh...stop you from taking those pills in your hand.”

Spock shook his head tightly, pursing his lips. “A human t’hy’la is most unheard of, as is it illogical for someone of my mixed genealogy.”

A smile flirted at the corners of the man’s lips as he ducked his head. “My charm has a history of... defying expectations.”

Spock squinted at the man. “How old are you?”

“I am...in my 40’s.”

“You appear to be my age.”

“Good to know. I can’t tell myself. Am I as handsome as I remember?”

Spock made a point not to answer that question. “So where is your proof that you are not a fictional product of my own mind?” Spock challenged. 

“I can touch you. But I won’t do it until you put those pills back in your pocket.”

Spock hesitated, then obeyed. Surely there was no harm in experimentation...

A pair of hands closed around his shoulders. His lungs relaxed and let go of a long, deep breath. His heart softened a bit, triggering the tension in his throat to turn into a giant lump he couldn’t swallow. 

“If you still don’t believe me,” said the man, “you can mind meld with me.”

“I believe you,” Spock said, immediately. He would not be able to use his touch telepathy as he was if he weren’t real. “Can you tell me your name?”

“James,” he said. “My name is James Kirk. You call me Jim, though. I don’t know how much your memory will retain of this later on, but...I’m here to help. Can you talk right now?”

Spock thought it over, then shook his head no. He didn’t understand it, but something about the care and tenderness this man treated him with made him want to let go of the tears in his eyes.

“I know how much you hate this. Feeling so much. Not being in control of your emotions or mind...I know that hurts more for you than for others.”

Spock’s heart softened, his will to hold in his own tears fading quicker by the minute. After all, if this man really was his t’hy’la, he’d likely seen him in emotional states worse than this before.

He kept his eyes averted, focusing on regulating his breathing. 

“I know you don’t want to cry in front of me, or at all...but you can. No one can hear you here except me.”

“I can’t,” Spock said. His voice was low and husky. “I can’t explain myself.”

“I already know what’s going on,” said the man named Jim. “I know about your father and your mother and...and your sister.”

Spock’s eyes turned on Jim in a flash, turning to white hot anger at the mention of his family. “You do not know them as I do,” he said, his voice feigning a snarl. 

“I know that it’s not a personal failing to tell somebody you love them. Especially family. Your sister...she loves you too. And so does your mother. Even your father does, though...I know it’s not obvious.”

A tear passed Spock’s borders, and he wiped it away as quickly as possible. 

“If you keep living and keep doing what makes you happy you will meet so many people who will love you,” Jim told him. “You just have to...live your own life, by your own standards. Never mind the people who don’t understand you. Their judgements don’t matter.”

Tears once again blurred his vision. He blinked, and they remained unshed. “What do you know about me?”

Jim’s eyes sparkled with a type of fondness Spock had never been on the receiving end of before. “I know you like I know myself. Better, probably. I know how much you’ve been through. I know you’ve been hurt by so many people you can’t keep count. But...you have to know that there are so many people—more than you’d ever believe—who love you. Take my hand...you can feel some of it.”

Spock shook his head. “I can’t...”

“I know why you’re doing this,” said Jim. “Why you’re trying to kill yourself.” 

“Oh, do you?” Spock asked. He was no longer working to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. 

“You feel useless,” said Jim. “You feel ridiculous for feeling anything, and yet you need to feel loved. Am I close?”

Spock looked down at the hand that Jim held out to him, palm up. He reached out and touched the back of his fingers. Under the slightly calloused hands of Jim’s lay unconditional, strong devotion and love. His skin barely contained the surge of softness and affection that rushed through Spock’s body and melted all of his muscles. 

“It’s okay,” Jim said. “Releasing emotion is healthy. That’s what I’m here to tell you.”

“None of the emotions I have are healthy.”

“You can’t hurt me with them. If it’s your modesty you’re worried about, you can trust I won’t say a word about this.”

Spock could not deny the many, many detailed accounts he’d read about when t’hy’la bonds were formed to deny the truth anymore. It was very clear that the old Vulcan stories about forming a t’hy’la bond held water after all.

He felt like someone had shoved a pick between the shell encasing him and hammered it until his protective layer cracked open. He looked up at the man named Jim, with the soft brown eyes full of tenderness and the concerned, furrowed brow. His was a face he never wanted to forget.

His body quaked violently. He could barely keep full control of his muscles as he sat up to take in a better look at him. 

Jim peeked up at him through dusty colored lashes, his eyes only catching Spock’s in a short gaze before he dropped his eyes back to the floor.

“You are real,” said Spock. “I could feel it. I would not receive any feedback from touch telepathy if you were an illusion.”

“Convinced now, are you?” Jim said, a soft smile on his lips. The flash of his white teeth caused a hitch in Spock’s breathing. 

“I am still confused,” answered Spock, averting his eyes to his own hands. “What are you supposed to do for me?”

Jim looked around the cell Spock was in, seeming to focus in and out of what he’d written on the walls. 

“I believe I’m supposed to wait the night out with you. Or at least until you flush those pills.”

“But why me?” asked Spock. “Why now? I have gone through worse in my childhood alone, shouldn’t you be speaking to a younger version of myself?”

“I don’t think so,” said Jim. “Maybe this place is where you finally accepted the reality of the pain you’d gone through as a child.”

Spock looked up and frowned with his eyes only. “Impossible. I have accepted it.”

“What’s going on around you...it goes back to your family. I can’t imagine what else you would be thinking about.”

Spock’s eyelids fluttered briefly as he tried to decide how to respond to this.

“No...” he said. “This isn’t about me.”

“Spock...I know it’ll take you a long time to realize this, but some things have to be about you. Your experiences that have hurt you aren’t small, and you can’t hide them under the bed forever. I mean, if you get cut...blood is inevitable.”

Kirk shifted closer to Spock and asked if he could put his arm around him. Spock responded by curling into his body when he was sitting close enough to him. He hesitated to put weight against him—he feared since he wasn’t physically there he would fall through him.

“You can lean on me. A child accidentally crashed into me when I was watching uh...an old memory of yours. I had to choose when to show myself visibly. I chose this memory.” 

“You really have seen it all,” whispered Spock. 

“It’s not your fault, you know...” Spock raised his eyebrow, triggering a quirk in Jim’s understanding smile. “What happened to you,” Jim continued. “Your father, the whole family...none of that is your fault. You’re a good soul. The best I’ve ever met. Everything you’re feeling right now is understandable. It’s okay.”

“You are entirely sure you will not be affected by my—by me, then?” Spock asked, tripping up over the term ‘emotions’ that he’d almost spoken. 

“Lay it on me.”

Spock opened his mouth and closed it, unable to speak. He wrapped his arms around himself and Jim leaned in, a hand against his back. He was not warm. He did not seem to breathe. But he was solid.

He was there. And he wasn’t going away until he was sure Spock wasn’t going to end his life.

“You’re loved, you know,” Jim said. He took Spock’s hand in his and gave it a squeeze. 

That squeeze was all he needed for Spock to break. He leaned into the crook of Jim’s neck and held his breath as tears rolled down his face. 

“Breathe,” said Jim. “Breathe. Come on.”

He followed his orders. It was easy, trusting what this man said. When he asked him to do something in that soft, caring voice, he really did want to take his advice.

When his breathing slowed, his body finally returned to a state of normalcy. Then the final twig holding up the last portion of his walls snapped and he let himself melt into Jim’s body and cry the way he hadn’t let himself since he was four. He clung to Jim as tight as possible and found that he had the ability to hug back just as strong. He cried enough to make his stomach hurt and his throat and eyes sting.

Jim stayed.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized in a ragged voice.

“Emotions don’t scare me,” said Jim, with ease. “Talk to me. If you can.”

It seemed to take forever. Jim’s shirt didn’t get wet from Spock’s tears, but feeling the material against his face was enough. Finally, he was able to slow down enough that he could breathe. The tears slowed, and he let his lips go slack and say some things he’d held in forever.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “My father...I once asked him if he liked me. Not even if he loved me...I just wanted to know if he could stand me. He told me the question was illogical. I was four.”

Jim stroked his hair and brought his other hand around to rest on his face. Spock flinched.

“Sorry,” said Jim. “Old habit...”

The moment his hand slipped Spock caught it. He felt love course through him through his touch. His breath stopped again, in shock.

“And...there go my mental shields,” Jim groaned. “I’m sorry, I was trying to keep my borders up in case I scared you.”

“Is it real?” asked Spock, clinging to Jim’s hand rather tightly. “This...?”

“You’re my T’hy’la,” said Jim. “Of course it’s real.

Spock shook his head and ripped his hand out of Kirk’s. “This can’t be possible,” he said. “The odds of any Vulcan having a T’hyla is eighteen percent, and there’s no doubt my being half human must have lowered that capacity.”

“Has touch telepathy ever lied to you before?”

“No,” said Spock. “But my mind is different. I’ve seen things, had visions...”

“And were any of those visions pleasant?”

“...never.”

“Then there is no other logical conclusion than the old Vulcan legends being true.”

Spock’s eyes filled with tears. He tried to keep himself under control as gentle fingers ran through his bangs and parted his hair. 

Jim leaned in, going slowly enough so Spock had time to pull away if he wanted. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. 

When Jim’s lips touched his forehead he felt a rush of love hit him again. It was love so specific to him. He felt like he was seeing himself through another person’s eyes. 

There was love in every feature and characteristic Spock had. Through Jim’s mind his eyes sparkled like the night sky; his heart was strong and pure, his vision steady and sure. Everything Spock tried to consciously correct about himself was beautiful to Jim. Above all that, though—among the love and the admiration and the trust—was the feeling that the very beat of his heart was the most important thing in this universe to Jim, and to take that away would leave him a man broken beyond repair.

Jim straightened his back and looked at him once more

“It’s okay,” said Jim. He wiped Spock’s tears as they fell, moved by the love he felt pulsing through his skin. He sobbed softly, head lowered. “It’s okay...you don’t need to be ashamed of yourself. You’re allowed to feel this way. Abuse has affect on Vulcans and Humans both.”

Spock took time to collect himself before he spoke again: “I never asked him for anything. I just wanted to know if he cared about me. He wouldn’t...he never mind melded with me. He barely ever touched me. He couldn’t give me the basics of what even a full Vulcan child needs.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “But that isn’t your fault either. You have to believe me. No one can measure up to your father’s expectations—certainly not me. I don’t know if this matters, but...for what it’s worth, he does love you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Spock, retreating from Jim entirely. “Whether he loved me was never part of the equation. The problem is that I cannot trust him. My mother will not stop trying to force us to make up. I just wish...” he looked down, swallowed. “I wish I could block him out indefinitely. Make it so I never have to see him or speak to him again. I want to look at him and hear his voice as if I were perceiving him through water...I fail to understand how you would want a T’hy’la who would pass such judgement on their own parent.”

“I’ve met your father. Trust me...your judgement of him is logical.”

Spock looked down with a touch of mixed curiosity and amazement. “You are the first person to tell me that.”

“I understand it’s long overdue,” said Jim. “But...frankly you are worth far too much to this world for your father alone to bring you down. You’re worth so much more than that. You have to make it through this. Otherwise...we won’t meet again.”

His eyes dropped towards Spock’s pocket, which was still heavy with pills.

“Will you be here when I get back if I leave to go flush them myself?” he asked.

“I’m always with you, Spock,” said Jim. “I’ll see you soon.”

Spock nodded and left towards the exit. He went into the bathroom, took an even breath, and emptied the pills into the toilet and watched it flush them away. 

He hesitated when he reached the door to his room again. He wondered, perhaps, if Jim left the moment his pills disappeared.

He opened the door. In the space where Kirk had been, sat a copy of the book “Alice in Wonderland.” Inside, left as a bookmark, was a note that read:

“Remember you are loved. See you soon- J”

Spock took this note and held it reverently, feeling a bittersweet sense of happiness touch him for a brief moment. 

He couldn’t remember the man’s name, despite the greatest strain of his memories. That must have been another affect of the T’hy’la bonding process. It made sense.

What helped the most, though, was having his handwriting on paper and the copy of this book. The note was proof he had a T’hy’la, and the book was proof that man loved him more than life.

He tucked the note into his pocket and kept his hand against the paper for comfort. 

With his other hand he opened the copy of the book and began to read, feeling his heart settle as his eyes took in the words so familiar to him. He took the book to bed until his eyelids became heavy and he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
